CHAPTER XXIX.
"Domestic happiness, thou only bliss
Of paradise, that hast survived the fall!" Cowper.
Friday, August 9th, 1844.
Since the receipt of your last letter, I have had serious thoughts of taking a trip to England. From what you say of father's health, I fear he is failing fast, and my heart yearns to see him once more. My dear husband sympathizes fully with me in this desire, and were my own health confirmed, he would urge me to go; but since the birth of my little Frank, my health has been very delicate, and he fears the voyage with the children would be too much for me. He did once suggest my leaving Pauline and Nelly, and taking only the baby with Ann. But I was decided in refusing to leave them. Franky is now six months old, and appears to be a very healthy child. I think, he will resemble his father more than even our dear little Walter did. Mother Lenox has now five grand-children, three of mine and two little ones at the parsonage. The Doctor brought the news of the arrival of the little stranger only two days ago. I sent Emily word this morning, that the baby must be named for me. The eldest is Susy, or Susan, for mother. Mr. Benson is very proud of his babies, and thoroughly appreciates the noble qualities of his wife. He was quite pleased this morning with the name, I had proposed for the little one, but said, he always accorded to Emily the privilege of naming her babies.
Mother has been with sister since June, and will probably remain until cold weather. Frank is not willing to have her away in winter, as she has of late years been subject to a cough. I wish sister Nelly could now see Pauline. The dear child is within an inch or two of my own height, and was eleven years of age last June. Never was a mother blessed with a more dutiful daughter. She has a most delightful influence over her sister, and indeed in her quiet way over the whole household. Phebe, (who has become very "weighty," as she expresses it,) often quotes Miss Pauline's remarks as testimony which no one would dare to question. A few days since she went to the village on an errand in company with Nelly, and on her return I saw her leading a poor, ragged, dirty child, while the woman whom I supposed to be the mother followed a few steps behind.
Leaving her little charge at the kitchen door, she flew up to her room, and then into the nursery; "mamma," said she in an animated tone, "are you willing I should give my birth-day money to a poor little girl who was crying in the street. She has no clothes, and she is very poor. May I, mamma?"
I arose and went below to ascertain the cause of the poor woman's poverty. Pauline followed, whispering, "Mamma, I had much rather give my five dollars to her, than to buy the work-box, because my old one is very good." I found the woman was a Canadian, and belonged to a company of beggars, who go about with a wagon, once every year or two, collecting clothes and money, while they procure their daily food from house to house. I directed Phebe to give them a comfortable meal, but was sorry to be obliged to refuse my dear Pauline the luxury of clothing the destitute child. I was so much touched by witnessing her tears of disappointment, that I called her to her room, and selected a calico dress, apron and shoes from her wardrobe and allowed her to present them to the child. She hastily thrust her purse of money into my hand, and ran below, where beckoning the poor beggar into the shed, she soon transformed her into a neatly dressed girl. I endeavored to improve this opportunity to explain to my daughter the necessity of discrimination between the really necessitous, and impostors. It was very hard for her to believe that any mother could be so depraved as to permit her child to appear so ragged and dirty if she could possibly avoid it.
Saturday, August 16th.
During school hours this morning, the thought of the Canadian girl so troubled Pauline, that I was obliged to give her the lesson to review, as it was so imperfectly recited, which is a very unusual event. She is generally very prompt in her recitations, and already is a proficient in music, both vocal and instrumental, for which she has a fine ear. I prophesy that she will by and by far surpass her teacher.
This afternoon I was reading in the library, when she came running in from her walk, in a state of great excitement. "Oh! mamma," said she, bursting into tears, "I have seen the little girl again, and now I'm sure she has a bad mother, for her nice clothes were taken off, and she wore the same dirty, ragged ones as she did before. I don't think," she continued, "that the little girl is wicked, because she hung down her head and was ashamed to see me; but her mother came out of a house with a large bundle under her arm, and pulled her angrily away." As I saw this had made a great impression upon Pauline's mind, I determined to say no more at the time, but take her with me more frequently than I had done of late in my visits to the poor and distressed.
Wednesday, August 21st.
The Doctor requested me this morning to prepare a basket of food for one of his patients; and I determined to take Pauline with me, and deliver it in person to the family. I knew nothing of their circumstances, only their name, and a description of the small house which they occupy.
Cæsar readily found the place. Mrs. Fuller, the wife of the sick man, was washing out a few clothes in an open shed back of the building, while two children, of about five and three years of age, played in the dirt before the door. The eldest stopped her play to gaze at the carriage as we drove up, and ran to call her mother. We entered the dilapidated building, where a man lay sick of a fever. He was moaning sadly when we entered, and seemed hardly conscious; but his wife assured us he was so, and that he kept moaning and muttering something to himself all the time.
From the wife's account I found that Mr. Fuller, at the time she married him, was a mechanic in good business, and that they lived comfortably for two or three years, though her husband did not seem happy as at first. He gradually grew more and more idle, neglected his business, and would sit moping in the house from morning till night.
"Was he intemperate?" I inquired. "None to speak of," she replied. "He never took to drink." After conversing with her for a short time at the door, I gave her the basket of provisions, and asked her if she were at present in special need of anything. She was very grateful, and said the Doctor had provided all that was necessary, and I took my leave, promising if she would send for it, to supply her with milk for the children.
Friday, August 30th.
The Doctor says Mr. Fuller is much worse, and that he has something upon his mind which troubles him. He is not at all inclined to answer questions, but to-day when Frank went silently in, and bent over him, thinking him to be sleeping, the poor fellow said, "that's all I remember, there's no hurt in that, and if there is, I'm not answerable, 'twas nothing to me."
Frank put his fingers upon the pulse, when the sick man turned upon him with a terrible oath, and said wildly, "What did you hear? I said nothing. You can't take me up for that."
Frank soothed him by saying he had heard nothing of consequence, and feeling much interested for the sufferer, who appeared struggling with remorse of conscience for some crime, he sat long by him, endeavoring to point him to the Saviour, who can deliver from all sin.
Mr. Fuller listened as if for his life, and muttered two or three times, "If I could only believe it! If I could but think so!!" The Doctor prayed with him before he left. When he called Mrs. Fuller to the door, and related to her what he had heard, she burst into tears, and told him that for years past, he had at times said over and over the same words, to which she could attach no meaning; but she clasped her hands in agony, "Oh, dear," she said, "I am afraid he has been guilty of some dreadful crime, and that's what harrows him up so!"
"The cause is conscience;—Conscience oft
Her tale of guilt renews!
Her voice is terrible, though soft,
And dread of death ensues."